


Blue Moon

by RuinsPlume



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Marauders' Era, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Prophecy, References to Shakespeare, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinsPlume/pseuds/RuinsPlume
Summary: Cock. And the sucking thereof. Dire predictions. Centaurs quoting Shakespeare.Drunk!written for Firewhiskeyfic 2017, Earth Day Edition.





	Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Original, unbetaed, drunk submission can be found [ here](http://firewhiskeyfic.dreamwidth.org/1680.html?style=mine%22>firewhiskeyfic.dreamwidth.org/1680.html</a>)
> 
> Now that I've sobered up again, I've corrected the typos and inserted some punctuation and a word here and there for clarity's sake. Original drunk!A/N reads: 
> 
> the author is dringking blue moon beer. The moon is blue becuase the planet is a mess. Sirius is blue because 
> 
> ah, we commenece:

It’s April 22nd, and Sirius was supposed to have spent the day at a demonstration, protesting. James and Lily had gone, and Peter had gone, and Remus would have gone except that he was still in the infirmary. But instead of being out there trying to save the world, Sirius ...spent the day wanking to the photos in his _Men of Quidditch_ mag. Now it’s evening and everyone is back again, flushed with having Made A Difference, even though it’s pretty clear to Sirius that it’s too late to make anything besides desperate attempts and gestures. He didn’t even do his Divination homework, and now James is standing over him and so forth, there’s an essay they didn’t do, and James and Sirius decide that the best way to do it at short notice would be to go into the forbidden forest and find the centaurs. 

Which they do. Darkness and the wet grass of the grounds and all Sirius wants is for Moony to come back to the dorms and fuck him, is that so bloody much to ask? All he wants is skin and mouth and cock and to be fucked and maybe to be drunk as well, to be released from the pattern that will soon be a war, is already a war but not quite yet called that. As if not saying what it is will hold it off. 

James beside him is nattering about Evans, they snogged at the demonstration right before a group of Death Eaters came swooping in, and Sirius isn’t really following it because it’s taking all his energy to just have this body, to walk it across the fucking grounds to the edge of the forest where only last night they were running. They were animals, they were fur and teeth and rack of bone, and never as animals would their minds unfold what the wizards are doing, the parsing and killing of some and not others. Moony transformed would take any rabbit, any badger. No malice in it, no premeditation. Sirius thinks of Regulus, and feels slightly sick, and grabs James’s hand without thinking too much about it. 

James, used to Sirius, lets his hand be grabbed. A side effect of being animagi, the touching. Their human forms more temporary, provisional. The boundaries displaceable. 

Sirius just wants to be held and hurt into drunkenness, he just wants to be fucked and held and made to forget all of it. They have one roll of parchment due on the results of an individual prediction made by the means of their choice: crystal ball, tea leaves, or astrology.

They find the centaurs. Two of them, close together, facing each other, their human hands stroking human chests. Their horse hooves pawing the ground in what appears to be a dance. James and Sirius break in through the underbrush, trip over a tree root, and four eyes turn on them in accusation, judgement, shock. 

“Right then,” James says, “we wondered if we might ask a few questions.” 

Sirius is smart enough to know they’ve already fucked up irreparably, and Sirius is Sirius enough to know that the only way out is through. 

“Predictions,” James is saying. “If you have any.” Or some shite.

The chestnut centaur—his human skin the same color as his horse’s body, his hair glossy black, and his chest hair, Sirius notices, not unlike the picture of the Chudley Cannons’ keeper, who kept stroking his broom in a really fucking suggestive way while Sirius was tossing off—this centaur is looking haughty the way they always do. He breaks away from his friend and comes to stand directly in front of Sirius and James, and then, then he rears up on his hind legs and both boys jump back. He’s meaning to scare them, and they are scared so that worked, but it’s also a full frontal albeit very fleeting view of his genitals, which are twice the length and size of James and Sirius’s put together, and yes, there is going to be cock in this story. 

Sirius thinking about that. Missing what the centaur is saying. Thinking about the fact that the centaurs can’t wank, he doesn’t think, their human hands are too far away, it’s not anatomically possible and that’s got to be a massive fucking problem. Maybe he could write an essay about that. No, no, he has to fuckous. That’s supposed to be FOCUS. But he wants to fuckous, that’s the problem. 

“The fault is not in our stars,” the centaur is saying, in response to whatever the hell James asked him. 

Maybe they suck each other off, Sirius thinks, horses can roll on their backs, after all, and whenever he sees actual horses doing that they look really happy. Rolling on their backs, that is. He’s never seen horses suck each other off. But they could if they wanted to. Maybe they want to. Maybe if they’re centaurs they want to. 

“Make mountains level, and the continent, weary of solid firmness, melt itself into the sea,” the centaur says. 

And that sounds so...so final. Sirius must have missed the part where the centaur stopped threatening them for breaking up their dance or wank session or whatever it was, and now they’re into doom. 

Sirius glances at James. He knows James well enough to know that right now, James is thinking, _Bugger this shite._

James sort of nods, politely but not really scared, which comes off as impolite. Sirius doesn’t know why James isn’t scared of anything. 

“Some were born great,” the centaur says, looking at Sirius like it’s an answer to the question Sirius asked only in his mind.

The other centaur comes over. Pure white, this one, his human hair even paler than Lucius Malfoy’s, and the hair on his horse’s body and tail pure white as well. And Sirius of course has to know, so he looks, and the foreskin or sheath or whatever you call it on a horse is the same white, but the equipment protruding from it is black, leathery, and of course he thinks about it. He thinks about the way it would feel in his mouth. Like sucking on the arm of his leather jacket, maybe. 

“But what’s going to happen,” James says. 

“You mean right now?” the white centaur says, hard and mean and with one foot pawing the dust in front of James. 

“Uh, yeah,” James says, and Sirius realizes that whatever the answer is, James can’t be too arsed to care because he, James Potter, is going to be fine, is going to come up smelling like roses, or smelling like Evans’s knickers anyway, and even with the war that isn’t being called by that name yet, James doesn’t believe it will ever touch him. 

Maybe James is right, and Sirius should stop being such a sensitive, overreacting, shirtlifting bleeder all the time. 

“Flesh stays no further reason but rising at thy name,” the chestnut centaur says, and turns with a degree of haughtiness that would put the entire Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to shame, and canters away. 

“What the bloody hell does that mean?” James asks. 

And they say Sirius is the arrogant one. 

“It means you’re going to get your cock sucked,” the white centaur says. He flings his hair over his shoulders, and oh god, look at those shoulders, those hindquarters, Sirius is so fucking bent, and the white centaur canters away too, hooves kicking up earth. And then both the centaurs are gone, and James is beaming in a way that means he thinks Lily is going to do the cocksucking, and Sirius doesn’t know how to break it to him that they didn’t mean Lily at all. 

“Come on, then, Prongs,” he says, swinging around to face James, his fingers grabbing James’s shirttail and pulling it out of his trousers. Because the best approach is the direct one. Sirius drops to his knees and begins undoing James’s flies. 

James is kind of laughing, like it’s a joke, and by the time he realizes it isn’t, Sirius has got his hand through the slit in James’s pants, and is pulling him out. 

“You heard them,” he murmurs. “So we have to.” 

All four of them have wanked together before, a couple of times in fifth year, before Sirius hooked up with Remus. And last summer when Sirius went to live with the Potters he and James did it exactly three times, just the two of them. And each time James was neither embarrassed nor standoffish after, which was the perfect way to handle it if you are James Potter and your best friend is bent and you are an opportunist and a good mate. It made things nice for Sirius, that James didn’t get all weird about it. It made Sirius love him more. 

Not the way he loves Remus (which Sirius does not want to think about right now, what with Remus in the infirmary recovering and Sirius on his knees in the forest while the mountains are being leveled). 

The way he loves James, who is unafraid, who knows he will be all right, who is letting Sirius do this. James who is letting Sirius take him in hand, letting Sirius ease his balls out too, letting Sirius wrap his hand around James’s cock and breathe on the tip of it, while looking up at him, and James, bless him, looks down, disbelieving and momentarily unnerved, but not so unnerved that he pulls away, because he doesn’t. He runs his hands through his hair, once, twice, and sort of half-laughs, and then puts his hand in Sirius’s hair, and runs his hand through that, as if it were his own. 

As if Sirius holding James’s cock is no more unusual than James holding it. And maybe it’s not, because they’re friends. And if the continent is going to melt itself into the sea —because that’s what’s coming, isn’t it? the centaurs said so—shouldn’t Sirius at least do this before they all sink? 

Sirius kisses the tip of James’s cock. Reverently, as if James’s cock is the thing he has to save from drowning. He looks up at James through his lashes, and when he sees James is still looking down at him, and by that looking is admitting what’s happening, it surges through Sirius’s body everywhere. And then ‘everywhere’ collects in his own cock, which is suddenly and perfectly completely hard. 

He takes James in his mouth. Still looking up at him. 

James doesn’t look away. 

That’s all. He doesn’t look away from what’s happening. 

That’s all that’s needed. 

Sirius closes his eyes, feeling James’s eyes on him. 

He opens his mouth and takes James all the way in. 

Sink. He sinks in this. Skin. Fullness. This part of James. His best friend tender in his mouth, hard in his mouth, oh yes, James is going to get his cock sucked. Whatever happens, he’s going to get his cock sucked by Sirius fucking Black. Sirius runs his tongue down the underside of the shaft and back up again, pausing where the foreskin attaches just below the head. Flick, flick, and James is his. Has always been his, just didn’t know it. James tightens his hand, and Sirius realizes James’s hand is still in his hair. Tightens it there. 

Gonna suck off his best friend here on his knees in the forest, where yesterday they were running, dog and stag. Animals, as if that were a bad word. Sirius tightens his mouth, hums around James. James’s wiry nest of pubic hair catching on Sirius’s unshaven chin. The smell of him in. Padfoot wanted this too, to know. Suck, suck, blow. James cants his hips; Sirius will melt in this. Like the whole world. He wraps his hand around the base. This is James. Cock skin on his tongue. Lick the head, the pearled bead weeping at the slit. Swallow it. Sirius bobs his head, mouth suctioned around James’s prick, the flat of his tongue caressing the underside of James’s cockhead. 

“Fuck, Padfoot,” James is saying. “Fucking bloody fuck.” Mindless words, but James’s voice. Like birds. Like love, this is. Sirius on his knees in the earth in the forest and the most animal part of James in his mouth like a sweet, like a spell, like the whole world. James bucks forward, his hand hard in Sirius’s hair, and now James is moaning, the words burled into vowels only, just thrust, thrust, thrust. Sirius becomes suddenly aware of himself—his own cock thrusting back, untouched in his pants. 

With his left hand hand he fumbles his flies open, holds himself while his mouth is holding James. Looks up at his friend. 

James, James, James. For you, James. Come in my mouth. Please. 

Not spoken, but James knows. Throws his head back, under the dark of the trees and spills, moaning. The sound through Sirius like a smell. Sirius comes in his hand, orgasms for the fourth time that day, comes on the dark earth, cock spurting. 

They’re young, they’re beautiful, they’re rich; they are, in a certain way, in love with each other. 

Why then is Sirius hurting? Even as pleasure rocks through him and he hugs James’s thighs to his face, kisses and licks his friend, licks his balls the way Padfoot would, yes, just—just there. In the night and the dark and the air. The smell of the forest all around. Maybe they could just live right here, on this dark forested bit of ground. 

Sirius staggers to his feet, James helping him up. 

“Thanks, mate,” James says, and then, realizing that that isn’t really enough of a thing to say, pulls Sirius roughly toward him in a hug and kisses him. It lands beside Sirius’s mouth, half on half off. And good enough. 

They do up their trousers. James socks Sirius on the arm and Sirius shoves him back. 

“Not bad, not bad.” Sirius grins; tries to grin, then does. 

It’s only as they’re just about to go that Sirius catches a movement out of the corner of his eye and turns to look. 

There. The two centaurs are watching them through the trees. Side by side, with their arms around each other’s waists. They must have been watching the whole time. 

And yet they look so sad.


End file.
